


The Ousting of Umbridge

by UmbraeCalamitas, WhinyWingedWinchester



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Quill (Harry Potter), Dolores Umbridge is Her Own Warning, Gen, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Luna Lovegood & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22760944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UmbraeCalamitas/pseuds/UmbraeCalamitas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhinyWingedWinchester/pseuds/WhinyWingedWinchester
Summary: When Harry is on his way back from detention with Umbridge, he encounters Draco on his prefect rounds. Discovering the scar on Harry's hand from a Blood Quill changes everything.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley & Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood & Draco Malfoy, Minerva McGonagall & Severus Snape
Comments: 44
Kudos: 869
Collections: Harry Potter





	The Ousting of Umbridge

“Potter!” Draco’s mouth turned up in a smirk at the sight of Harry Potter stalking through the halls like he actually knew how to be stealthy. Imagine that - a Gryffindor that knew how to  _ sneak.  _

He scrubbed his sleeve surreptitiously over the Prefect badge on his robes to make sure it shone brightly. It was the best decision Dumbledore had ever made, making him a Prefect. Of course, it had probably been Professor Snape who put Draco’s name forward. He was the Potions professor’s favorite, after all.

“You’re out after curfew, Potter! How many points should I take from Gryffindor, do you think?” 

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his robe sleeve gently down over his aching hand. “I don’t know, Malfoy. But taking any at all would imply you can count.” He smirked. “And we all know that’s debatable. Besides, it was bloody Umbridge that kept me, so why don’t you scurry off and ask  _ her _ ?” 

His hand gave a dull throb, and Harry grit his teeth against it. Malfoy was  _ still  _ standing there and Harry glared tiredly at him. He felt sick, his hand was killing him and he just wanted his damned bed. And hopefully tonight, Seamus and Ron would remember their damned silencing charms on the curtains around their beds, and he could get some sleep. Between the awkward dreams and their snoring, he was exhausted and having trouble looking them in the eye. 

He wondered for a moment if he should just go and see Madam Pomfrey and ask for a generic pain relief potion. Maybe she’d take pity on him? 

“—ter! Potter!” 

Harry blinked and shook his head to clear it. What the hell had he missed? How many points did he lose? “Why’re you still here, Malfoy?”

Draco refused to admit that he was waiting for Potter to give him something a little more than  _ that.  _ He always put on such a good show. This was frankly  _ disappointing.  _

“Are you  _ still _ attending detentions with Professor Umbridge?” That cow. He couldn’t stand her. It was only because he had tutors over the summer that he was confident he would pass his OWL exams. If Dumbledore wasn’t worthless as a headmaster, they never would have been forced to deal with her as a professor. 

Not that he would admit to something so incriminating. 

“You’d think after the first two you’d have learned to keep your mouth shut. But then you’re a Gryffindor. Since when do you think at all?”

“You really need some new material, Malfoy,” Harry muttered. “Can I go now? I’m tired and I want to see Pomfrey.”

Maybe that would shut him up. Play the sick card. God he wished he’d taken Fred’s offer of a Puking Pastille. Malfoy would look so  _ good  _ with puke on his stupid leather shoes. 

His face scrunched up into a look of confusion before he could stop himself. Why did Potter want to see  _ Pomfrey?  _ Stupid school nurse reported everything she did to Dumbledore. He went to Snape for everything unless the witch got to him first. 

He shifted his expression into a sneer as quickly as he was able. “You’re still out after curfew, Potter. As a Prefect, I’m required to escort you.” He moved to the side and made a motion toward the hospital wing. “Shall we?”

Well  _ shit.  _

If he went to Pomfrey, she’d see his hand. And if she saw his hand she’d tell McGonagall, who’d tell Dumbledore. 

Shit. 

Stupid Malfoy. 

Harry glowered at his feet and then decided to simply go with it. He’d just tell her he had a headache. A frightful thing that was making his teeth hurt. Then he could take something for pain and hopefully get some bloody sleep. 

He sighed and started off in the direction of the healing wing. “Hurry up, Malfoy,” he said. “I’m not holding your hand if you don’t keep up.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes in public and followed after Potter. The other boy was being  _ boring.  _ Where was that temper and fight that always kept him snapping back at Draco. He would never admit to  _ enjoying  _ it, but asides from Blaise, who actually had a functioning brain (something sadly lacking in most of Slytherin House), Draco didn’t get to verbally joust very often. 

He followed along behind Potter, growing steadily more annoyed as the boy continued to ignore him. 

“Potter! What does Professor Umbridge have you doing -hugging dementors? You’re positively  _ gloomy.” _

Hugging Dementors would probably be more enjoyable, Harry thought. Much more so than slicing ones hand open again and again while Unbridge sipped her tea and the technicolour kittens in the plates gambolled along behind them.

God he hates those plates. 

Maybe Crookshanks would eat them. 

Harry almost grinned at that thought. But his hand was beginning to mimic his pulse in the open cuts and his almost-there humour died away. 

“She’s just the best fun,” he said dully. “I’m just loving spending my evenings with her. It’s almost as enjoyable as this midnight stroll with you, Malfoy.”

“Oh please, I am far more entertaining than that  _ cow,”  _ Draco snapped, insulted. “Really, Potter. You’re practically  _ dragging your feet.”  _ Terrible form. Who taught him how to walk? Perpetual slouchers? Slugs? A  _ Weasley? _

He thought for a moment. Potter really  _ did  _ look reluctant. And Draco could understand that. The school nurse was terrifying, on top of running her mouth to the Headmaster. 

“Why do you want to see Pomfrey, anyway?” Had he already asked that? “You know she tells Dumbledore everything, don’t you?” Worst healer ever. 

Harry lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “‘Course she tells him everything. Everyone tells Dumbledore everything.”

Not this, though. Surely not? Not after everything Harry went through last year… Dumbledore wouldn’t… 

Harry didn’t let himself finish the thought. Because the truth of it was that he really  _ didn’t  _ know what the headmaster would and wouldn’t let Harry suffer through. He didn’t know at all, anymore. 

Malfoy made an irritated sound behind him, and Harry raised his hand to wave him off and winced as the motion pulled on the cut skin. The blood, which had all but stopped, started to run sluggishly again. He shoved it down and yanked his sleeve back over it. 

“I have a headache,” he bit out. “Mind your business, Malfoy.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “I’m a Prefect and you’re out of bed after hours. That  _ makes _ it my business.” He moved over to Potter’s right, trying to get a look at his hand, but the idiot had it covered with his sleeve. Typical. 

He  _ did _ roll his eyes this time. His mother would be appalled. “Why don’t you just go to Professor Snape for a potion?” He was far more discrete, and he didn’t manhandle you into a bed like the witch did. 

_ That  _ made Harry stop. He turned slowly to stare at Malfoy like he’d grown a second head. Just in case he  _ had.  _

“Are you absolutely mental? Why the bloody hell would I see Snape!? He’d just as likely kill me than help me!” Harry’s hand gave a particularly vicious throb and he groaned a little. “C’mon Malfoy. Let’s just go, yeah?”

Draco sighed. It was his  _ are you a complete idiot  _ sigh. The one he was used to using on Goyle at least once a day, because yes, he  _ was _ a complete idiot. 

“Potter. Professor Snape is a  _ Potions Master. _ He would be required by his position to help someone in need, even if he  _ wasn’t  _ a professor. Why do you think he spent all of third year brewing a potion for that werewolf?” 

“Because  _ Professor Lupin _ couldn’t brew it himself, Malfoy.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Now can we please just  _ go _ ? Or are you so desperate to stay in my company?”

Draco heaved a sigh. “You would think that, wouldn’t you, Potter? Fine. Go on, then.” 

They started walking again and he let it go for a little bit, watching Potter out of the corner of his eye. He kept wincing periodically and shifting the hand he had covered with a sleeve. He was  _ sure _ he had seen something on it. 

They turned a corner and Draco didn’t turn in enough time, bumping into Potter with more force than was strictly necessary. He made a wild grab for Potter’s wrist. 

It was kind of like watching a train wreck in slow motion, Harry decided. You just can’t seem to look away, even when you know what’s coming. He turned, probably a little too sharply, around the corner and Malfoy didn’t. He stumbled and tried to grab Harry’s wrist. 

But, of course, he grabbed Harry’s bleeding hand and Harry fucking  _ yelled _ in pain. 

Sharp waves of white hot agony ripped up his arm as Malfoy grabbed the freshly reopened cuts on his hand. The world tilted a little bit and Harry gasped in a breath. 

Draco let go of Potter’s hand sharply, startled by his cry of pain. More than pain. He’d shouted less after the incident with that  _ beast _ in third year. 

Looking down at his own hand, he saw his palm and fingers were smeared with blood. 

_ Headache my arse.  _ “What’s wrong with your hand?” he demanded, fisting his own. “And so help me, Potter, if you  _ lie...” _

Harry swallowed hard and took in Malfoy’s bloody palm and fingers. 

Shit. 

He could lie. And Malfoy would make his life even more bloody miserable if he did. 

He could be honest. 

… and Malfoy would make his life even more bloody miserable if he did. 

Harry sighed and held his hand out. 

Draco grabbed Potter’s wrist, carefully not touching his hand, and pushed the sleeve of his robes back. His skin was smeared with blood, but even through that, Draco could see  _ words _ cut into his skin.  _ I must not tell lies.  _

That wasn’t difficult to figure out. “Umbridge did this?” he asked coldly, glaring at Potter. Confirmation was  _ necessary.  _ He’d be a fool to act without it and Draco Malfoy was no fool. 

Malfoy was acting weird, pretending like he cared. Harry was waiting for him to laugh, tell him he deserved it. 

But he didn’t, so Harry nodded. “Said she had a special quill for me to use,” he said quietly. “I’ve had detention four nights in a row. She…  _ accidentally  _ loses track of time.”

“Yeah, it’s called a Blood Quill, Potter. Don’t you know anything?” In a moment of insecurity, he ran his fingers through his hair, messing it all up. This was so much bigger than him. This was… this was something they really  _ should _ go to Dumbledore about, except Dumbledore was a bigoted old goat who probably wouldn’t do anything at all. 

And barring that, there was always Severus. He would help them. Except if Draco mentioned going to Severus - Professor Snape, school  _ was _ in session - then Potter probably wouldn’t follow along. 

Nothing for it, then. 

Draco grabbed Potter’s  _ other _ wrist, the one that wasn’t bloody and mangled, and turned them around, heading toward the closest set of stairs to the second floor. 

Harry stared at where Malfoy was holding his wrist, then lifted his eyes to stare at Malfoy. With his hair not all slicked back and shiny with hair product junk, he looked  _ human.  _

But even so. 

“Where are we going Malfoy? Pomfrey is the other way.” 

“Duh,” Draco muttered, cringing a little as he imagined what his father would say if he heard Draco uttering  _ foul muggle slang. _

__ “We’re going to McGonagall’s office.” The  _ idiot _ was left unsaid, but loud and present all the same. 

“Oh.” Harry let himself be towed along placidly for a few more steps before he asked, “Why?” 

His hand was bleeding again, and Harry wondered for a moment if there were veins or something there that he’d cut words through. The windows were frosted over and snow was piling up against them on the outside, and all he could think was that he was grateful for it. Because if it was snowy, there was no Quidditch. 

He just couldn’t be bothered with it. 

Draco sighed. “Don’t you know _anything,_ Potter?” He scowled at the floor in front of him and kept walking, pulling the other boy behind. “Blood Quills are illegal to use on a minor. Umbridge might as well have stood there and cast a cruciatus _and_ an imperius curse on you. Blood Quills are used for binding magical contracts and you’re too young to sign one! When my father hears about this, he’s going to have her job.” And maybe the Minister’s! 

He actually rather hoped not on the latter. Fudge  _ was  _ a useless buffoon, but his father being Minister didn’t really fit in with what Draco had planned. 

Harry sighed and dug his heels in, forcing Malfoy to stop. When the other boy spun to glare at him, Harry shrugged. “It’s not going to make a difference if we report her. She’s the High Inquisitor now, Malfoy. She’ll just have McGonagall sacked and we’ll be even more screwed.” He shrugged and looked at where Malfoy was holding his wrist. 

He had surprisingly soft hands. 

Harry wondered for one stupid moment if he had a whole… routine thing. For his skin. He had nice skin for a bloke who was as pale as a vampire.

“Besides. Why do  _ you _ care?”

He just stared at Potter for a moment. “Are you kidding me?” he finally grit out. “Don’t you remember our Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons last year?” He wished  _ he _ could forget. “The Unforgivables are an automatic sentence to  _ Azkaban.  _ Umbridge could be  _ Minister,  _ it wouldn’t matter. Using a Blood Quill on you is  _ illegal.”  _ He drew the word out slowly, just in case Potter was being particularly thick today.

“We can get  _ her  _ sacked. We just have to tell your Head of House, since you’ll probably go running back to Weasel if I suggest we go to mine.” He deliberately ignored Potter’s question. He  _ didn’t  _ care. He’d just found a way to get rid of the cow and he was exploiting it, like the good little Slytherin he was. 

Harry tipped his head a little and sighed. “She won’t get fired,” he muttered. “I’ll end up in trouble for antagonising the teacher and you’ll go back to normal. This is just weird because it’s 2am, and I am very tired.”

He swung the arm that Draco was holding and grinned. “See? I’m hallucinating. You don’t have soft hands and you’re not practically holding my hand. I may also be a little bit loopy. Do you know, I think I’ve lost a little bit more blood than I should’ve. How odd.”

Draco gaped at Potter for a second and then just started walking again. He was mad. That was the issue. Or worse, Umbridge had done something to him. Although how long had his detention been for? 

Draco’s father had a scar on the back of his right hand in the shape of his signature - a side-effect of using a Blood Quill when signing contracts, and even then, he didn’t use one very often. Potter has suffered through detentions for the last four nights, for Merlin knew how long. He could only imagine the damage that had been done. 

So he pulled Potter after him as he reached the stairs and started to climb. He just hoped he could remember where McGonagall’s office was. 

Harry hummed to himself as Malfoy went from door to door, staring at them and then moving on the next. “It’s this one,” he said after he’d walked away from the right door. “Maaaalfoy. You walked past the door!”

His head was swimming and his hand was aching and pounding, and he could hear an odd ringing in his ears. 

The time had slipped away from him, and he was positive Umbridge had deliberately let it. 

Draco stomped back to the door Potter had indicated.  _ What was the point  _ of doors and paintings and statues that required a password or something special done to open them? When you needed an adult, none of the decent ones were accessible! 

Draco knocked. He tickled the doorknob. He kicked the frame. He briefly considered doing a little dance, just to see if it would work. 

Finally, he simply started hammering his fist against the door. His next step would be casting a spell at it. A blasting spell was probably not a good idea, but something loud and flashy would do the trick. 

Or he’d just drag Potter to the dungeons. 

He glanced at the other boy. Potter really didn’t look well. He was pale and sweaty and looked like he might pass out if Draco tried to drag him to the dungeons. He needed McGonagall to  _ wake up.  _ What was something that would get her attention? 

He sneered. “Five  _ hundred _ points from Gryffindor,” he said coolly. It would never stick, of course, but hopefully  _ someone useful _ would take notice. 

There was a very loud hammering and banging sound coming from around the corner, which startled the Nargles away, and Luna sighed. She’d been looking for her shoes, because they’d all disappeared. Again. 

“You know, if you just ask it nicely, it’ll open for you, Draco Malfoy. Hello, Harry Potter.” 

Luna moved closer to the door and smiled at it. “Good morning door. Could you open, please? Harry looks rather like he’s about to faint, which could be rather problematic for poor Draco.” 

She stepped back as the door swung open and turned her eyes to where Draco was gripping Harry’s hand. “I didn’t know you two were finally dating,” she said softly, “how wonderful. Oh. Good morning, Professor McGonagall. Harry’s going to faint, but his boyfriend has him.”

“I’m not— We’re not—“

_ Priorities, Draco.  _ His mother’s smooth, cultured voice interrupted his thoughts, a thousand lessons on etiquette flashing through his mind in a moment. Right, priorities, and remaining calm under pressure. 

Draco took a deep breath and met McGonagall’s stern gaze. “Professor, I would like to report a gross miscarriage of justice. Potter here has just come from detention with Professor Umbridge.” Draco went a glare at the boy, who hadn’t said  _ anything.  _ “Show her your hand, Potter!” 

Luna cast a cushioning charm on the floor as Harry’s eyes simply rolled back in his head and his knees buckled. “Oh, there he goes. Poor Harry. Mind his head, Draco.”

“Don’t spend all night dithering around,” Professor McGonagall said sharply, “and get the boy inside!”

Which of them was the adult here? 

But Draco grabbed Potter’s shoulders and with Lovegood’s unexpected help, they managed to get Potter inside. And really, did the boy eat? He weighed next to nothing. Draco was fairly certain he could’ve lifted him himself. 

Once they were inside the room and the door was shut behind them, he turned back to McGonagall. He liked her. She was one of the few professors at Hogwarts who was unscrupulously fair, regardless of what House you belonged to. 

“Professor.” He kept his tone polite even though he  _ really  _ wanted to throw quite the fit. He thought he’d be allowed, too. He’d spent the last half hour with  _ Potter.  _ “Umbridge used a Blood Quill on Potter. He’s got a heinous scar on the back of his hand and he’s bleeding  _ everywhere.”  _

Luna stood back out of the way and wriggled her bare feet by the warm fire as Draco laid Harry out and Professor McGonagall fussed over him. It was nice to see that Draco and Harry were together now. Their auras liked each other very much. 

She hummed lightly as McGonagall made Draco tell her what had happened, and then blinked at the portrait that was smiling at her. 

“Hello Professor Aurora,” she said politely. “It’s lovely to see you outside of the library, ma’am.”

“Lovegood!” She turned to Professor McGonagall and nodded. “Why are you out of bed?” 

“I was looking for my shoes, Professor,” she answered. “They go missing. Cedric used to help me find them after curfew so I wouldn’t be punished, but he’s gone. I was hopeful his ghost might be here, but no luck.” She moved closer and peered at Harry. 

Draco was still holding his hand, but she didn’t bring it up. Best not to embarrass them if this was new. 

“Is Harry alright? I’m very fond of him.”

“Of course you are,” Draco muttered, but there wasn’t any real heat behind it. He and Luna were very distantly related. His father didn’t like to talk about it, probably because of the rumors of there being some magical creature in their family history. 

Draco didn’t interact with her much because it would’ve gotten back to his father (everything did), but his eyes traveled down to her bare feet. It was close to winter and the days were getting colder. The castle, of course, dark and made of stone, was especially cold, particularly in the dungeons. 

“Who keeps taking your shoes, Luna?”

Minerva flicked a glance at the two of them, but turned her attention almost immediately back to Potter. To  _ Harry _ . 

His hand was a mess, and she looked up at the portrait in the corner of three wizards playing chess. “Go and fetch him then,” she said quietly. “And mind you be quick about. Tell him to bring his kit.” 

_ I must not tell lies _

She turned his hand to and fro carefully, assessing the damage. The bloody quill had nicked a few veins, and in one place she was fairly certain she could see the bone of his hand. 

“I’m not entirely sure, Draco,” Luna said and Minerva couldn’t help her almost-smile at the girls dreamy voice. “But they usually turn up again. Most often right before we leave for the train.” 

He was fairly certain that Luna’s shoes didn’t simply  _ go missing.  _ Her family had always been a little different, but Luna had been even more off ever since her mother died. Most people didn’t accept her as she was, and fewer treated her well. 

“It’s getting cold, Luna,” Draco said quietly. “Have you asked Professor Flitwick to help you find your shoes?” 

“I don’t like to bother him.” Luna smiled at Draco and shrugged. “It is what it is. I’m odd, and they don’t like odd people in Ravenclaw.” She wiggled her toes again. “Although perhaps I might put a sticking charm on my slippers.”

Luna looked down at Harry and then back at Draco. “You’re being very nice to me today, Draco,” she said happily. “It’s a very nice change from your usual school demeanour.” 

Draco shifted uncomfortably, realized he was still holding Potter’s hand, and dropped it. He took a step away from him. 

“You’re family,” he told Luna casually, refusing to look at her. There was also the fact that Crabbe and Goyle couldn’t follow him on his Prefect duties and he didn’t have to be the perfect son of Lucius Malfoy. He could have a brief few hours’ respite. A rare treat until this year. 

“I think it’s more that you’re alone,” she said quietly. Draco was odd too. He showed everyone what they wanted and expected to see, but it wasn’t who  _ he _ was. There were pieces missing, and she often wondered if they’d make a whole puzzle when they were put back together. 

A whole new Draco, who was honest to himself. 

“You didn’t have to let go of Harry’s hand you know. I’m not going to tell anyone you’re together.” 

“We’re not together! I just… I needed him to follow me.” He cursed his pale complexion that showed the heat of his cheeks so easily. Imagine, him with Potter. 

Luna was always so observant - too observant, really. He wished he could spend more time without a following, but Goyle’s family was loyal to his father and Crabbe’s owed him a life debt, so they’d do anything his father said. Include spy on Draco and tell him any time he acted outside the best interests of the Malfoy Family. 

He pushed that to the side, looking back at Potter, and at McGonagall, and then back at Luna when McGonagall looked at him. 

“Do you know the summoning charm? You could summon your shoes back.” 

Harry was fairly certain there was a hippogriff sitting on his bloody head. Every time his heart pumped, his hand and his head seemed to be fighting for who could hurt the most. He didn’t remember falling asleep, though he obviously had. The last thing he could properly remember was thinking how soft Draco Malfoy’s hands were. 

Shit. Harry blinked and McGonagall’s very blurry face appeared over his. Had he lost his glasses again? That sucked. Uncle Vernon absolutely wouldn’t buy him another pair. 

“Potter?” 

He sighed and rolled his head to look at McGonagall properly. She looked pissed. And blurry. And really pissed off. He must’ve slept through her class. “Ow,” he mumbled. “‘m I late?” 

“For many things, including curfew, Potter.” 

Draco jumped, spinning around to see his godfather stalking into the room. He hadn’t even heard the door open. 

“But of course, the rules don’t apply to Gryffindor’s golden boy,” Snape drawled, scowling as he made his way over to where McGonagall was standing. “The painting didn’t mention  _ who _ I would be treating, Minerva.” 

“Shit.” 

“Language Potter!” 

Luna watched in amusement as Draco seemed to relax entirely, Harry tensed up like he was expecting to be punished, and the two professors shared similarly exasperated looks. 

“Draco brought Harry here because his hand was bleeding quite badly. I think they were on a date. Harry fainted, but Draco caught him.” She sighed a little. “It was all very romantic, Professor Snape.” 

Snape looked over at Draco, raising one slender eyebrow. His face colored in embarrassment. “We were not on a  _ date!  _ I was doing my Prefect rounds and Potter was out after curfew.” 

“Of course,” Snape drawled. 

“He’d just gotten out of detention with Professor Umbridge,” Draco continued, talking a little louder to interrupt his godfather’s mutterings. “And he wanted to go to Pomfrey.” He sneered. “I tried to get him to come to you, Se-- Professor Snape, but he wouldn’t, so I brought him to Professor McGonagall.”

“And then I was summoned. Does this story have a point, Draco?” Snape looked at Luna. “And what are you doing out of bed, Miss Lovegood?” 

“I was following the Nargles. Sometimes they lead me to my shoes. I was rather hoping to find Cedric’s ghost, though. He always helped me.” 

She peered around him to where Draco was flushed and glaring at her, and bit her lip. “I think I may have made Draco cross with me,” she said softly. That made her feel sad and like all the colours in the room were tinged with blue. She’d always loved when Draco was kind to her. There were times she could still remember from their childhoods when he’d snuck away at parties to play with her. 

“If it’s alright, I can see myself back to bed, Professors.” 

Draco gave his godfather a pleading look when he turned his dark eyes onto him. The Potions Master gave a slight nod. 

“Draco, I believe you have your Prefect duties to attend to before it gets too much later. See to those, and escort Miss Lovegood back to her Common Room.” 

His shoulders dropped slightly in relief, but he found his eyes traveling to Potter without his consent. 

“I will deal with Mister Potter,” his godfather said smoothly. Draco winced. That was never a good tone to hear from him. 

“Yes, sir.” He moved over to Luna’s side. “Come on, Luna. I’ll take you back to Ravenclaw Tower.” And he would retrieve her shoes for her. 

His eyes moved back to Potter as they made their way to the door. He felt a little bad about leaving the other boy, for no reason he could explain. The professors were here and they would deal with it, and with Umbridge. He had no requirements to stay. And he certainly didn’t  _ care _ what happened to the Gryffindor glory-hound. 

Luna padded out of McGonagall’s office after Draco and bit her tongue against speaking. People so often thought she couldn’t read social cues or tell when people were trying to make her leave… but she could. Perhaps not as well as most people, but she could read the room well enough. 

“I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing,” she whispered. “Draco? You just seemed very happy to be with Harry.” 

_ It’s about time _ , she thought. 

“Nothing’s changed between us. It was just circumstance.” Draco smirked at her. “You know Slytherins and Gryffindors can’t be friends.”

“Maybe not right now.” Luna hurried to catch up with Draco and let her fingers rest lightly on his bloodied palm. “Make sure you wash this off, Draco,” she murmured. “You don’t want someone who’s not  _ you _ to get Harry’s blood.” 

* * *

“Severus.” Minerva tutted at him when he took his time to move, and she looked down in concern when Potter simply passed back out. “Umbridge has been using a Blood Quill in her detentions with Mister Potter. He’s lost an awful lot of blood, and I think I could see bone. She’s had him for  _ hours _ almost every night this week!” 

Severus grit his teeth. A Blood Quill. A horrid piece of magic that should have been banned centuries ago, but people kept them in use because they forced the signatories to honor the contracts they had signed or risk losing their magic. But they were illegal to use on a minor. 

He picked up Potter’s hand carefully, studying the mark. He might not have liked Potter in the least, but he was a student of Hogwarts (however much Severus wished otherwise) and one of the annoying children under Severus’ care. And the wound really was as bad as Minerva had said.

“Have you informed Dumbledore yet?” he asked, opening his kit and pulling out a thin vial of yellow liquid. He uncorked it and poured it over the wound to stop the bleeding. 

“I have no intentions of doing so at all,” Minerva snapped and moved over to her desk. She yanked the bottom drawer open and pulled the bottle of FireWhisky out along with two glasses. She didn’t bother to ask Severus, just poured two glasses and swallowed hers back in one go before she refilled it and headed over to Severus. Minerva set his off to the side on a small table, and sipped at her second glass. 

“There’s something off with Dumbledore,” she said quietly. “And I don’t believe he’s acting in Harry’s best interests anymore. He could have done  _ anything _ to get Harry out of that tournament last year. But he chose to let a fourteen year old boy try to keep up, and then to face You-Know-Who!” 

“I did not imagine I would live to see the day a Gryffindor learned to think for themselves.” He didn’t look over at Minerva, even at her annoyed huff, his attention on cleaning Potter’s hand and smearing a pale blue cream over the wound. “I imagine that is why Draco tried to bring Potter to either of us, rather than to Poppy.” 

It was no secret among the staff that Poppy Pomfrey told Dumbledore about everything that occured within the hospital wing. The woman was a mediwitch, not a healer, and she’d taken no healer’s oath of confidentiality. Anything she dealt with would straight to Dumbledore, who would do his absolute best to cover it all up. He’d served Dumbledore loyally for the past few decades, but he’d lost faith in the old man a long time ago. Now it was nothing more than his promise to Lily and his knowledge of the Dark Lord's continued existence keeping him here. 

He finished bandaging Potter’s hand and stood, picking up the tumbler Minerva had filled and downing the contents. Potters. He’d never be done with them. 

He sighed and pressed the side of the glass against his lips for a moment before moving over to the desk to pour himself a second. “What are we going to do about Umbridge?”

“Hell if I bloody know,” Minerva sighed and held her glass out for a refill, smirking at Severus when he gave her a concerned look. “Don’t fret, Sev. I may be pushing seventy, but I can still drink you under the table and then teach on top of it the next morning.” 

She looked over at the fire and then down at Potter’s pale face. “Is there anything you and Draco can do, perhaps?” Minerva looked back up at Severus. “He looked awfully worried for someone who doesn’t  _ like _ Harry.” 

Severus grimaced. “Draco’s situation is… complicated.” Lucius wanted the boy to take the Dark Mark. It was expected of him, as the scion of the Malfoy Family, to follow in the footsteps of his fathers. Lucuis, and Abraxas before him, had always sat high in the Ministry, supporting the Pureblood agenda and, often, whatever Dark Lord was reigning over the world at that time. 

He was one of the few who knew Draco without the masks he was forced to wear to survive Lucius’ constant demands. The boy was bright and had been eager when he was younger. Much of that eagerness had waned of late, as more and more pressure was put on Draco to conform to his father’s ideals. 

There was going to come a time when Draco would be forced to choose between his father’s ideals and his own. Severus only hoped he had given the boy enough reassurance that choosing the latter would not mean he would be  _ alone.  _

“Draco has enough on his plate just trying to survive Slytherin House.” He rolled the tumbler in his hands and took a sip of whiskey. “And I’m not certain how much I can get away with.” He was on thin ice already from the Ministry for having been a Death Eater, no matter his status as spy. “I suppose I could slip her something in her morning tea.” He smirked at Minerva. “Although we’d have an entire class of students who can see the thestrals.” 

* * *

Harry woke slowly, his headache still there but not as blinding as it had been the last time he’d opened his eyes, and the aching in his hand was minimal. He was laying on a soft couch, tucked beneath a scratchy Afghan with a cushion that smelled of lavender under his head. A look around the unfamiliar room showed portraits he didn’t recognise, and bookshelves crammed full of books and scrolls, loose bits of stuff spread all over. It wasn’t until he spotted a familiar biscuit tin on the desk that he realised where he was. 

McGonagall’s office. 

He tried to remember why and then he remembered Malfoy. 

Malfoy with his weird soft hands and sounding like he was actually worried for Harry. That he  _ cared _ .

“I must’ve been dreaming,” Harry muttered and sat himself slowly up. His hand was bandaged neatly and a note pinned to the blanket told him that Professor’s McGonagall and Snape wanted to see him and Malfoy after breakfast in Snape’s office. 

“Shit.”

* * *

Draco made his way down to breakfast in the Great Hall, doing his best to ignore Crabbe and Goyle following behind him like two particularly irritating shadows. After he’d returned Luna to the Ravenclaw Common Room (and summoned all of her shoes and a few other stolen belongings she hadn’t mentioned), he’d finished his rounds and returned to the Slytherin Common Room. Goyle and Crabbe had been asleep at that point, thankfully, and Draco had spent the rest of the night with some measure of privacy. He certainly hadn’t used it for sleeping. Not for more than an hour. He was going to need a Pepper-Up potion to get through the rest of the day, so it was just as well that he received a note from Severus by owl once he sat down. 

_ Meet me in my office after breakfast.  _

_ \- S _

Draco sighed as he folded the note up and slipped it into his pocket. He poured himself a glass of orange juice and eyed the food around him before choosing some eggs to fill his plate. 

“Crabbe, Goyle.” Both boys looked up at him, their mouths stuffed full of food. He resisted the urge to grimace in disgust. “I need to speak with Professor Snape after breakfast regarding last week’s potion’s homework. I suspect I’ll be late to my first class.” He eyed them both disdainfully. “So I expect some halfway decent notes from one of you!”

* * *

Harry didn’t look at either Ron or Hermione as he ate his breakfast. He knew Ron would have questions and Hermione would bristle and fuss and argue that he ought to do this and that about Umbridge. He just didn’t have the energy. 

Things were still a little bit stiff between Ron and Hermione for whatever reason this week, and he found himself a little less inclined to give a shit about it nowadays. What did it matter who was dating who or whatever. 

Voldemort was back. 

He was a liar in the press and in the minds of his classmates. Unstable, even. 

Harry looked out over the hall as he poked listlessly at his cornflakes and sighed. Snape and McGonagall were both gone from the teachers table, and he figured that was as good a sign as any to go. 

The chatter in the Great Hall quieted down as he walked between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, resuming at a louder pitch when he stepped out of the hall. Harry was so preoccupied staring at his feet he walked right into Malfoy. 

“Malfoy.” He looked at the little slip of parchment in his hand and nodded at it. “I'm going to go see Snape. He and McGonagall both asked me to be there. Er. If you’re heading that way, we can walk together?” He shuffled his feet and grinned tiredly. “Thank you, Draco,” Harry said softly, “for last night.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at the use of his first name. “You’re welcome,” he said after a moment, starting to walk down the hall and expecting the other boy to follow. “I see Professor Snape didn’t poison you.” He left out that they could have gone to him to start with. 

“I don’t suppose you were told  _ why  _ Professors McGonagall and Snape want to see us.” He better not get in trouble for last night or he was going to throw a massive fit. 

“Not a damned clue,” Harry said around a jaw cracking yawn. “Though if I did have to guess, I’d say it’s something about Umbridge and this.” He waved his bandaged hand. “Maybe they have a plan or something.” 

Harry walked quietly beside Malfoy for a little while, and it wasn’t until they were walking the corridor to Snape’s office that he spoke again. “You’re not always a total prat, huh? It’s nice. You should try it more often.”

Draco sneered. “I’m a  _ Slytherin,  _ Potter. Who says I’m not just hoping you’ll let your guard down so I can sell you to the Dark Lord?” All Slytherins we’re evil, after all. At least according to Dumbledore’s self-righteous arse. 

Harry just yawned again and shook his head. “Because I’ve met Voldemort,” he said simply. “And you’re… not dead enough, inside, to be one of his.” 

He looked up at the door they’d stopped out front of and tipped his head at it. “After you.”

Draco paused for a moment, startled. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and pushed the door open before Potter could answer. 

Professor Snape and McGonagall were both there waiting for them. 

“I do hope that’s  _ tea _ at this time of day or I’m going to be disappointed I don’t get to drown my many sorrows,” Draco drawled, stopping in front of them. 

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Lucius lets you have firewhiskey?”

“Obviously.” No. But that didn’t mean Draco had never  _ had  _ firewhiskey. 

Snape smirked at him and tipped his mug. Tea, then. Pity. 

Minerva looked Potter briefly over, did the same for the Malfoy boy, and then told them both to sit down. 

“I won’t have you missing classes,” she said, “but this must be done.” 

She looked to where Draco sat, sipping his tea and looking completely comfortable in Severus’s office. “You’ll antagonise Umbridge, really irritate and annoy her. You will, to put it simply, earn detention, Mister Malfoy.” 

Minerva heard that catch Potter’s attention and she smirked. “Your godfather isn’t the only one who can plot the ousting of a staff member, mister Malfoy.” 

“But Professor—!”

“But nothing, Potter,” she said firmly. End of bloody discussion, so far as she, and Severus, was concerned. 

Draco didn’t say anything for a moment. “You realize that my father being so prominently in the Ministry is likely to… quell some of Umbridge’s reactions toward me. No one wants to irritate the coin pouch in the Minister’s pocket.” And that’s all his father really was. A coin pouch in the Minister’s pocket and a whisper in his ear. And a Death Eater, of course. Couldn’t forget that. 

McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him and Snape was staring pointedly. Draco sighed. 

“What I’m saying is all Potter has to do is  _ look _ particularly irritated at Umbridge and she’ll toss him in detention. I’m going to have to be a bit more thorough. She doesn’t hate  _ me.”  _ Not yet, anyway. “And if I’m just going to get in trouble with  _ you  _ or with Dumbledore for doing as I’m told, then I refuse. You can find someone else to use as bait.” 

“You’re not going to be punished for doing this,” McGonagall stressed, “but only if you  _ choose  _ to do it, mister Malfoy. Otherwise, we will have to find another way.” 

Harry shuffled his feet uncomfortably. This was… not what he’d been expecting. Malfoy wouldn’t do it though. The risk was too big. 

There really weren’t too many other options open to them that Draco could think of, short of getting Umbridge accused of doing something else illegal. But here they were with her doing something all on her own. They just needed proof of her doing it. They needed someone to kick up a fuss. Someone that  _ mattered _ to the Wizarding World. 

With press as it was at the moment and Potter Undesirable #1 and considered an attention-seeking liar, no one was going to believe him and fewer would care. 

Draco was a Pureblood, though. Scion of one of the Noble Houses, and that status counted for something with people like the Minister and most of the members of the Wizengamot. People would be up in arms if something happened to the Malfoy Heir. 

He’d certainly used that position for less. 

“Very well,” he said, straightening himself up and meeting McGonagall’s eyes. “I’ll do it.” 

“Wicked!” Harry turned and grinned at Malfoy. “That’s… awesome.” 

He rocked back on his heels and grinned. 

A Hogwarts with no Umbridge. 

Harry glanced at Malfoy and wondered if it would be a different Hogwarts in other ways, too. 

Draco smirked. “Let’s just hope the Ministry doesn’t send someone  _ worse.”  _ He eyes the professors. That was their job. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have class.” 

* * *

Harry felt like he was sitting on a primed grenade in Defence class that morning. It took every ounce of self control , and a few he didn’t know he had, to  _ not _ turn and stare expectantly at Malfoy. 

Or his weirdly soft hands. 

And  _ why  _ were his hands soft? So weird.

Harry jiggled his foot impatiently and nearly threw himself from his seat when he heard that hated little,  _ “hem hem” _ followed by, “Yes, Mister Malfoy? You have a question about the reading?”

“Not a question, Professor.” Draco lowered his hand and set them both in his lap, out of her sight. He was nervous about this. He’d spent the brief time before this class considering how he would get her to give him detention. 

He’d considered for a time that bigger might be better. Ostentatious and loud, like a Gryffindor. But the urge to oust Umbridge immediately warred with his natural desire to stay in the shadows. 

And besides, if he got rid of her  _ today,  _ he wouldn’t have the immense pleasure of causing her grief before she went. 

“I just wanted to say how much I  _ appreciate _ finally having a professor who knows how to teach their subject.”

Beneath his desk, his wand moved subtly in his hand, a piece of chalk lifting at a silent levitation spell and beginning to trace words on the blackboard in large block letters. 

“It’s such a relief to know that the Ministry is looking out for us.” He gave her his best son-of-Lucius-Malfoy-and-bootlicker smile. 

Harry bit his tongue hard enough that it drew blood as he tried not to laugh. 

Malfoy was a genius. And he’d never admit that out loud, not even under pain of death. But this? 

This was  _ real  _ magic. He sat as still as he could and desperately tried not to laugh. And he very deliberately didn’t look at anyone else. The whole class seemed to be holding their breath. 

The words  _ Umbridge is the Toad Princess _ were scrawled across the blackboard behind the woman, unnoticed by any but her students and probably understood by only half of them. 

The bit of chalk under his control was halfway through the word  _ someone _ when Ron Weasley burst out in loud guffaws, completely interrupting Umbridge’s assurances that the Ministry would always put the children of the next generation first. 

“Umbridge is the Toad Princess!” Weasley said loudly, nearly shouting in his joy. “Good luck finding someone who wants to kiss  _ that!”  _

Draco very carefully let his mouth fall into an exaggerated expression of shock. “Weasley!”

Harry snorted and turned his head to hide his grin. If Umbridge saw him with a smile, she’d probably blame him. 

But Harry turned his head just a fraction and gave Malfoy the tiniest wink he could. 

_ Genius.  _

“Weasley!” Umbridge shouted, turning to see those same spoken words on the blackboard. “Detention!”

“It wasn’t me, Professor!” Weasley said, panicked. 

The erasers swooped off of the blackboard railing one by one and began to batter Umbridge about the head, clouds of dust rising at each well-earned smack. 

At her desk, Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter as Umbridge shrieked in rage. Of course she’d get it. 

“Put her in the chokey,” Harry whispered and Hermione’s entire face went beet red as she tried not to laugh too loudly. 

Draco smirked and flicked his wand. The doors to the cupboard flew open and Umbridge came up off her feet. She let out a shriek of rage as she struggled in the air, yanking out her own wand, before she was flung into the closet. 

The doors slammed on her shrieking and the bar came down, sealing her in. Draco cast a silencing charm on the closet and in the ensuing silence, everyone went surprisingly still. 

“CLASS IS CANCELLED!” Finnegan yelled, typical Gryffindor, and threw his textbook at the blackboard. 

Harry put his head down on his desk and howled with laughter.

* * *

He waited until the next day before cornering Malfoy while he was alone in the boys toilets. 

“That was  _ genius _ ,” Harry said with a grin. Malfoy had a smirk on his face but his eyes looked more like he wanted to laugh. 

Had his eyes always been that gray? Huh. Weird. 

“So… this afternoon’s class?”

The only one who’d wound up with detention after the fiasco of the day before had been Ron. And he’d been set to scrub bed pans in Pomfrey’s wing. 

“Do you, erm, need any help?”

Draco went to shake his head but paused. “Actually, yes.” He turned to Potter. “Could you pass a message to the Weasley twins for me?” 

He liked the twins. They pranked everyone in the school, not just the Slytherins, and they never singled anyone out without damn good reason. He’d also run into them sneaking about in the dungeons before and they didn’t hex him for being a filthy Slytherin. 

“Sure!” Harry cocked his head at Malfoy. “Just a friendly warning though… do  _ not  _ trust their Skiving Snackboxes. Boils, Malfoy. Boils where no one should ever have boils.” He shuddered.

His lips twitched up in a grin that he ducked his head to hide, huffing a laugh. “Noted.” 

He cleared his throat, his expression sobering. “If they could get us some dungbombs, I think we could have some fun. But I wanted to ask if they could see to pranking Ravenclaw for a bit of revenge. Not Lovegood, but her housemates.” His eyes darkened from grey to silver. “They’ve been treating her poorly.” 

* * *

“So. Dungbombs for Malfoy and pranks for Ravenclaw—”

“— as long as we don’t get little Luna in it—”

“— because her housemates are arseholes—”

“—  _ and _ we get to slip Umbridge an as yet untested—”

“— but absolutely potent—”

“—laxative in her tea?” 

Harry looked from one identical freckled grinning face to the other, and nodded.

Fred looked at George at the same time as George looked at him and they nodded. 

“We’re in!” They said in unison. “Stand back and let the masters work!”

* * *

Umbridge was clearly ready for them to try something when they got to her class. She was standing by the door and as soon as the door opened, she commanded them all to place their wands on her desk. 

Most everyone was hesitant to do such a thing. Umbridge looked among them all and tsked. “Oh dear.” She marked something down on a piece of paper she was holding. “I’m afraid anyone who refuses to give up their wand for the duration of the class period will receive detention with me for the next three weeks.” 

“That’s rubbish!” Weasley yelled. 

Umbridge raised an eyebrow at him. “Detention, Weasley. Tonight. We’ll see what’s rubbish then.” 

Draco looked around for a moment before he pulled his wand from his pocket. “You heard the professor,” he told Crabbe and Goyle coolly, knocking them both in the arm. “Wands on the desk.” He walked over to Umbridge’s desk and dropped one of the Weasley twins’ fake wands on top of it. Crabbe and Goyle followed suit, with their actual wands, and followed Draco to their seats. 

Harry watched with utter glee as the trick wand Malfoy had dropped on Umbridge’s desk exploded all of a sudden, coating her in a truly foul-smelling fluid that left hideous pus-filled pustules everywhere it hit. 

And then - and Harry really had to remember to give the twins something amazing for Christmas - her stomach began to rumble and gurgle. Her face went from white to red to  _ green  _ and Harry watched with tears of laughter in his eyes as Umbridge fled the classroom, deathly-smelling  _ pop-pop-pop  _ sounds following her.

He didn’t dare meet Malfoy’s eye. 

* * *

It became a contest almost. The next day, Draco didn’t plan for anything. He had dungbombs on him just in case, but they were only in the classroom five minutes when all of the textbooks in the room lifted off the students’ desks. 

Everyone went utterly silent, though Draco’s eyes scanned the room. His eyebrows lifted in slight surprise when he saw  _ Granger _ with her wand in her hand beneath the desk, her lips moving slightly as she whispered spells. 

And then the books were doing a fair job of vomiting up their pages with loud tearing noises, the empty covers flinging themselves at Umbridge when they’d finished. 

Draco caught Potter looking at him and nodded toward Granger with an approving look. Perhaps he’d send her a book on silent casting as a congratulatory gift. 

* * *

Neville looked around carefully, triple-checking the coast was clear, before he crept into Umbridge’s classroom and pulled the tiny box from his pocket. 

His grandmother had been almost  _ gleeful  _ when he’d asked her if her cat still had fleas. 

Neville opened the tiny box and repeated the sticking charm Hermione had taught him, making sure they wouldn’t hop away from Umbridge’s chair. 

Then he crept back out to join his classmates milling about in the hall before class.

* * *

It was impressive, really. Gryffindor and Slytherin working together under the same banner. Getting rid of Umbridge. 

After Longbottom’s fleas had Umbridge scratching at her hair for the whole class period, there was the spell around Umbridge’s desk that turned everything she said into baby-talk. Draco was fairly certain that had been courtesy of Greengrass. 

Then, in a seeming parody of second year, everyone ate one of the Weasley twins’ puking pastilles, and the entire class spent the period trying to out-vomit one another. Umbridge was  _ accidentally  _ puked on more than a few times and Pomfrey had to be called to deal with what seemed a fast-acting case of the flu. 

The weekend gave them some time to “recover” and Monday presented a fresh start to the week. 

He smirked at Potter as he leaned against the wall. “Scared, Potter?” 

Harry grinned back at Malfoy. “You wish.”

He looked into the classroom and whispered to Malfoy, “hey! Look.” He pointed to the blackboard. “She’s enforcing no wands again.” 

Harry sighed a little and rubbed his eyes. “Reckon she’s gonna give in? Class-wide detentions?”

Draco hummed thoughtfully. “Can’t have that, can we?” He pulled one of the fake wands from his pocket. Not one of those that blew up or turned into a rubber chicken. It was just a simple fake wand that did nothing - maybe threw a few sparks, but he’d asked for a couple specifically that wouldn’t do anything suspicious. 

“Still know how to talk to snakes?” he murmured. 

“I do,” Harry answered quietly and then winked. “I’m talking to  _ you _ , afterall.”

He smirked. “Well, let’s see if you can get her pulling a wand on one.” 

Umbridge was in the door, then, ordering them inside and to put their wands on the desk. Draco dropped his fake wand on the growing pile and moved toward his desk. 

Everyone shuffled into their seats and Umbridge shut the door. “There,” she said sweetly. “Now we’re going to have a nice, calm class.” 

Draco pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it at Potter’s feet. “Serpensortia,” he murmured, as Umbridge continued talking. 

Harry let his eyes drift down to the python curling around his feet, and ducked down under the pretense of fixing his shoelace. 

_ “Make her scream,” _ he hissed softly,  _ “and I’ll feed you all the rats you want. Just be careful. She’s evil.”  _

The python bobbed its head at him and flicked its tongue lightly over Harry’s fingers. 

_ “Conssssider it done, massster.”  _

Harry sat back up in his chair, face perfectly blank, and waited. 

He watched the snake - mottled black and green - slither across the floor toward the front of the classroom. A few students looked at Potter sharply, but no one screamed, thankfully. 

Not, that was, until Umbridge. The snake had risen up, hissing at her, and the woman drew her wand. 

A sharp flick of his wand tugged the snake out of the way of Umbridge’s spell, but it didn’t stop her. She started firing them off at random. Draco cast the spell to send the snake back where it came from (he kind of hoped he could summon that one again), but it didn’t matter. Umbridge was standing on her chair, shrieking in between casting spells at every shadow on the floor. 

Draco winked at Potter, pointed his wand at his shoulder, and cast a mild diffindo. It hurt, but not nearly as much as being scratched by a hippogriff. 

But that had been good practice. 

Draco threw himself from his desk with a shriek. “I’ve been hit!” he wailed, collapsing to the floor. “She’s killed me! Professor Umbridge has killed me! Murder! Betrayal!” 

Harry wheezed in a breath as Malfoy rolled about in absolutely hysterical dramatics and the rest of the class all laughed. He sat up straight and did his best to not burst out laughing as he looked Umbridge dead in the eye. “His father will hear about this,” he said coolly and smiled. “Lucius Malfoy? Close friend of the Minister,” he continued casually and crossed his ankles, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms over his stomach. “And you know that’s the truth, Professor. Afterall,  _ I must not tell lies. _ ” 


End file.
